


it's like dancing when the song's already over

by winterpolis



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:28:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22647925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterpolis/pseuds/winterpolis
Summary: Collection of winterwitch short fics.[#1 -- Their eyes meet again and she grins, the slightest sheen glossing her eyes. She wordlessly takes the comb and scissors he hands her and starts snipping. In the quiet that settles over the bathroom, he makes no mention of how she chose to do this the long way. Somehow, she needs the closure as much as he does.]
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Wanda Maximoff
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	it's like dancing when the song's already over

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing for this wonderful ship, so please be gentle! i've had this idea floating in my head the past week and finally decided to write it out. spot the two (unpopular) head canons i decided to let free, x.

He’s doesn’t know how long they’ve been staring at each other through the mirror in his bathroom; but he supposes it’s long enough for her to gasp just the slightest bit at the coolness that’s settled where his prosthetic meets the flesh of his shoulder. Droplets from his wet hair settle on the hand she’s placed there, and he watches as she swallows.

She’s been trying—and failing—to say something since the moment he stepped out of the shower and sat on the stool in front of the sink. He has an inkling as to what she wants to say, but he’s already made up his mind and he doesn’t like doing things by halves. He knows that she’s more than aware of this, and any dissent she may be attempting to conjure is borne more from _her_ uncertainty than it is from his.

Finally, she gets the words to tumble from her lips. “Are you sure?”

Her voice is soft, raspy even, and if he strains hard enough, he can hear the slight tremble she tries to hide.

It’s a simple enough question, and his answer is simple enough as well. “I’m sure, doll.”

Wanda finally breaks the staring contest they’ve unwittingly engaged in in favor of running the comb through his hair for the umpteenth time, and he can’t help but chuckle at that.

“Babe, you’re stalling.”

For all her grace on the day to day, Wanda releases a laugh that gets caught in her throat, and it sounds like a dying animal’s last growl. Before either of them can comment on it, she’s placing the comb on the sink and wrapping her arms around him from behind.

“I know, I know,” she presses her cheek on the top of his head. “It’s just that… This is a big thing, you know? It’s been who you are for so long.”

He sighs and brings his vibranium hand up to circle her wrist. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? It’s who I _was_ , not who I _am_.” He feels more than sees her take a deep breath of concession. “I’m not feeling sorry for myself, Wan, I’m really not.”

Wanda turns her head so that it’s her chin that’s resting on his head now, her auburn locks hanging around them like a curtain. He only grins at the question in her eyes. “I know you too well.”

Rolling her eyes, she huffs before pulling away. Immediately, he misses her warmth.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” She closes her eyes and tips her head back, as if asking for divine strength. It’s not lost on him how much of a big deal this favor he’s asked of her is for her as well. When she turns to look at him through the mirror again, there’s a fierce determination on her face. “But we’ll do it my way.”

He can only nod. “Whatever you want, babe.”

In her last ditch effort to prolong the inevitable, she fiddles with the bath towel that’s draped over his shoulders and scowls at him. “You should count yourself lucky I’ve done this for Pietro many times over the years, so you won’t end up looking like some chimp with a bad hair day.”

The comparison is too ridiculous that he lets out a deep-belly laugh. Wanda only offers him a crooked smile and a shake of her head.

“You don’t know how blessed you are, James Barnes,” she jokingly chides, and the moment is somewhat tender and loaded all the same—so reminiscent of how they are, it makes him smile softly.

“I know exactly how I’m blessed.”

Their eyes meet again and she grins, the slightest sheen glossing her eyes. She wordlessly takes the comb and scissors he hands her and starts snipping. In the quiet that settles over the bathroom, he makes no mention of how she chose to do this the long way. Somehow, she needs the closure as much as he does.

Eventually, she asks for the electric razor, and when she shakily takes it from him, he turns his head to press a kiss on her wrist as she pulls away. _Nearly there_. He pretends not to see her blink too quickly. As the razor hums to life, he closes his eyes and lets the last vestiges of the Winter Soldier fall away, one long strand at a time.

By the time she puts the razor back on the sink, his heart is hammering in his chest and he can’t bring himself to open his eyes.

“James?” Her voice is quiet.

“Give me a moment.”

Wanda only presses a kiss to his temple in response.

He feels her take the towel off his shoulders, and the moment the cool air from the open door touches his skin, he slowly peels his eyes open.

And there, staring back at him, is the face of Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—only he’s older, more scarred, wiser, and more _loved_. It’s not quite the style he copped all those years ago, but it’s pretty damn close and it’s both a weight off his chest and a sting to the soul. It honestly feels like a golf ball was shoved down his throat.

He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until she’s settling on his lap and wiping his tears.

“Oh, Jamie,” she whispers with all the love in the world, the nickname he’s come to adore slipping past her lips.

“Thank you, doll,” is all he can choke out.

Wanda smiles as if he shouldn’t even have to say it, and then she’s gathering him in her arms.

“It doesn’t change what I’ve done and who I was,” he murmurs against the column of her neck, hands settling on her hips. “But it sure feels like I can change who I can _be_.”

The wide smile on her face and the tears that slip past her own eyes are answer enough.

 _You already have_.


End file.
